That Coffee Fix
by sahbeL
Summary: Derek and Cora decide to lay low in New York and he meets a girl that intrigues him who's covered in tattoos and has warm hazel eyes. (Takes place at the end of 3A after Cora and Derek leave Beacon Hills). Rated for some swearing and marked complete as these chapters can be read as oneshots.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** That Coffee Fix

**Pairing:** Derek x OFC

**Setting:** Takes place at the end of 3A after Cora and Derek leave Beacon Hills. Pretty much AU from there because I started this before 3B.

**Summary:** Derek and Cora decide to lay low in New York and he meets a girl that intrigues him who's covered in tattoos and has warm hazel eyes.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything except the OFC.

-x-

Right from the start he's been intrigued by her ballsy attitude. The way she looks at him with a challenge in her eyes that no other human would dare lay on him. From the moment of their unconventional meeting – him wolfing out in an alleyway after saving her from what could've been a fatal mugging – her _not_ cowering in fear and huffing a small, disbelieving laugh at him instead –she's always been straight up and completely genuine.

At first it was just small run-ins at the local coffee shop…_Who knew he and Cora would pick a loft just around the block from her apartment?_

He's standing by the window at 2 o'clock in the afternoon, coffee in hand, when he senses a presence beside him, eyes on his face. He looks to the side at about chest level and sees a mop of unruly, dark hair, fair skin, a small nose and hazel eyes.

"You."

"Me." He replies.

He's trying to decide on what kind of damage control he's going to have to lay on her when she points a lazy finger at him. "The wolf man."

He chokes and almost spits out the coffee he'd just sipped. "Jesus, any louder?"

She's in sweatpants and a pink tank top, tattoo sleeve prominent on her left arm and some sort of elegant script lacing her collarbones. Her hair doesn't particularly look like it's been brushed and she's just looking at him like he's some normal person. He likes that even though it's not the hour for sweatpants, she's totally walking around in them. He likes that she's looking at him like he's just another guy even though he's pretty sure she saw him with fangs and claws just a few nights ago.

She doesn't answer his question. Asks him one of her own instead.

"Are you following me?"

His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline (and that doesn't happen very often) because for the _second_ _time in five minutes_ this completely human girl manages to make his heart jump and surprise him. She's still staring at him, dropping the arm she'd pointed with as she cocks a hip to the side and sips her coffee, her eyes still on his face waiting for an answer.

He shakes his head with disbelief, straightens to his full height (the top of her head barely reaches his shoulder) and faces her. He finds himself trying hard not to plant her with the full power of his wolf's gaze and suppresses his sudden instinct to let her know that he's an alpha – or, _had been_ until –

"I live around the block," he spits out, mouth pressed into a thin, unforgiving line.

They watch each other for another minute before she blinks and shoots him a small smirk. "Relax, grumpy. I was only playing." She rolls her eyes and reaches around him to grab a napkin from the dispenser by the window.

"I live around the block too" She adds as she saunters past him towards the door. "So I guess I'll see you around again. Try smiling next time." She throws over her shoulder before disappearing out the door.

And he's left standing in the coffee shop still trying to make sense of what just happened.

-x- _  
><em>  
>It's probably two months or so after they leave Beacon Hills that Cora finally gets sick of him brooding all over the loft. Every time she passes him in the lounge or in the kitchen, her eyes roll with exasperation until she finally snaps and kicks him out for the night. Makes him find somewhere else to <em>brood or whatever. <em>

He's been strolling around the busy city for the better part of an hour without really having much sense of where he is when he comes across a club called –as cliché as it sounds – _Wolfsbane._

Jesus, his life's become ironic. _  
><em>

The music inside is fast and commercial, sort of electric and sort of trance. It's too bubbly for his liking but he finds himself stepping up behind the few bodies in the line anyway. When he gets inside it's bigger than he pictured and fuller than the line out front had led him to believe. He avoids looking directly into the lasers and heads straight for the bar. There's a second level full of "watchers" and several couples making out. He didn't particularly feel like brooding from up high so he decides to stay by the bar; pans his gaze over the dance floor; stretches his senses until he smells the sweat of the bodies writhing in the centre of the club; hears a dozen different heartbeats all at once and goes deaf from the bass of the music.

He's just finishing off his fifth bourbon and coke –his supernaturally inclined body making sure that he's almost as sober as when he'd walked in an hour ago –when the lights in the club change for a second and spotlights illuminate two sections of the stage. He watches two dancers step gracefully up to their respective podiums. Both are in scantily clad outfits. One is wearing purple fluffy tassels and as he turns to study the other dancer he's glad he's not sipping his sixth bourbon and coke. Her costume looks like a black two piece bikini. She's wearing knee high boots and some sort of thick, fur-lined hood pulled low over her face.

_No way, _he thinks to himself, eyebrows pulling low into an irritated frown. They might be in a room full of people right now but his sense of smell makes him feel like he's back at the coffee shop. She's too far away but it doesn't stop him from picking up the slight whiff of hazelnut in the air. It makes him wonder if she works the bar he's leaning against when she's not on the podium swaying her hips and arching her back like she's been doing it for way too long.

He can't really see her face and he almost comes to the conclusion that she doesn't enjoy what she's doing, but then her hood falls away from her face during her next hair flip and he sees her flash an absently seductive smile. Her pink tongue flashes out and strokes the edges of her top teeth slowly. She sways her hips and pushes her arms straight out in front of her, swipes them outwards so they end up spread out on either side of her and it looks like a sexy crucifixion. His lips twitch slightly at the morbid analogy. _And when the fuck did he start thinking in analogies anyway?_

He brings his drink up to his mouth for a sip, watches her move fluidly to the music. He can see that she enjoys it. Loves the way she can switch from seductive hair flips and body rolls to calculated dance moves with sharp angles and shapes. He watches her the whole time she's on the podium. Sees her feistiness even from where he's standing. Unlike the other dancer (and dancers he'd seen before), she doesn't prolong eye contact with the opposite sex. He likes that she's not bitchy or conceited. She smiles when she makes eye contact with someone in the crowd, even breaks up a fight once or twice and sticks up for the _right_ guy. He watches her reassure the one being wrongly accused – pausing in her dance and bending over to the guy – signalling that _it's okay, I'm watching_, as she points two fingers at her eyes and then points it at the scrawny looking kid getting picked on. Then she re-assumes her routine, arms going up over her head and running down her shoulders and chest. But Derek can see that her eyes are alert and watching the most-likely inebriated bunch by her podium. He likes that.

By the time the next go-go dancer taps her on the shoulder to signal a changeover, he's almost intoxicated by her scent. He's honed in on her so sharply that he can smell the slight tang of her sweat mixed with her hazelnut latte (this explains the 2 o'clock coffee runs, by the way) and is that…cherry blossom?

She steps down from the podium, momentarily slips out of his line of sight. He decides that this would probably be the best time to take a bathroom break and maybe shake off his sudden creeper vibe towards this random girl.

When he steps back up to the bar and signals the bartender for another drink, he's momentarily paralysed by the eyes he feels on the back of his neck. He doesn't know if she knows about werewolves and their heightened senses but for some reason she doesn't bother raising her voice over the music. Like she knows he'd hear her loud and clear.

"Are you sure you're not following me?" There's no malice in her voice. Just a playful singsong lilt as he turns to look at her.

She's covered up her costume with a black slip dress that falls just past mid-thigh. The thick fur-lined hood has disappeared and her hair falls messily around her face. He has a feeling that she doesn't spend much time brushing it and he likes that about her too. He lets his eyes wander, takes note of the grey and black compass inked on her upper left arm and the silhouettes of flying birds.

"This place is called _Wolfsbane,_" he returns, keeping his face neutral. He doesn't let on that she's made his heart pick up a few paces and that he's actually not feeling as grumpy as he's trying to look.

"Yeah, so?"

"So, I'm guessing I'm probably not the first of my kind that you've come across," he replies.

She's unfazed. He doesn't even detect an elevation in her heart rate as he calls her out on her _not-so-secret_ secret. She rolls her eyes at him and he resists the urge to make her take back that feistiness.

He likes that she's not afraid.

"I'm not gonna rat you out, if that's what you mean," she replies, has the gall to shoot him an offended look. "Did you actually follow me here to kill me or something? Coz you _saved _my life. If anything, I'm indebted to _you_."

He levels her with an intense stare. He can tell by her heartbeat that she's not lying, there's a lack of nervousness in the smell of her sweat. Slowly, he relaxes. Leans an elbow back on the bar and watches as she finally steps up beside him. Her scent hits him like a freight train and it takes almost all his willpower not to close his eyes and inhale the mix of hazelnut and cherry blossoms.

"So…" this is the first time he sees her hesitate for a bit before she continues on, "…can I know your name now, or are you sticking to the Grumpy-Almost-Stranger-Wolf-Man vibe you keep giving me?"

This time_ he's _rolling his eyes at her, "I didn't follow you here."

"Okay."

"I was just in the area."

"And I was just at work," she replies.

"And I didn't know you worked here."

"And now you do," she throws back.

"_Not_ that it means I'll be coming back."

"Why not? You didn't like it?!" there it was again, that offended feistiness that drew out his wolf. He resists flashing his eyes at her.

"That's not what I meant."

"So, you_ did_ like it?"

"That's not what I meant either."

"So what _did _you mean?"

He clamps his mouth shut and looks up at the dark ceiling above them. He ignores the lasers and prays for patience.

She's still waiting for an answer when he turns his gaze back on her.

"It's Derek."

"What?"

He almost smiles at the way her nose wrinkles in confusion. "You wanted to know my name. It's Derek."

She makes an O shape with her mouth and tests out his name.

"Derek."

He doesn't let himself dwell on how much he likes the sound of his name on her lips. Focuses on the way her hair frames her face and the heartbeat pounding just under her breastbone. He tries to read the fine script outlining her collarbones but even with wolf eyes the club is too dark, the lights are flashing too much and the script is too small.

She notices him noticing her but doesn't fidget or giggle like other girls. Instead, she stands still – only moves to cross her arms as she waits for him to finish his perusal. She doesn't even call him out on the fact that he's pretty much openly ogling her.

"And I'm Leslie, by the way. Just in case you were wondering." She murmurs in amusement, arms still crossed over her chest, hip cocked to one side and shoulders shrugging once in mock bravado.

He smells her amusement and blushes. _Fucking blushes, goddammit!_

"Leslie." He repeats, his low voice drowned out by the club's music. He knows she doesn't hear him by the way her eyes flick down to watch his lips.

He likes that she doesn't ask for much else. Likes that he hasn't been able to predict what she's about to say every time she's moved to speak so far.

He tries not to focus too much on the warmth that blooms in his heart when she flashes him a small, dimpled smile.

-x-

After that, the coffee shop pretty much becomes his new favourite place. Not that he actually has favourite places, but if he did, well.

He and Cora are still spending their days laying low so he pretty much doesn't have much use for his phone (even though he still checks it once in a while). For the most part though, he and Cora are doing a pretty good job of pretending like they didn't exist.

He tells himself it's just boredom that makes him suddenly want to go get coffee every afternoon. That leaving the house for a while every day is actually keeping Cora off _his_ back about _brooding all over the loft. _

Deep down though, he knows he's lying to himself. But Derek doesn't feel like examining his psyche in that way just yet. Doesn't want to start comparing Leslie to Jennifer to see if there are any similarities. If he lets himself, then this whole thing would explode into one big angst-fest. And he doesn't quite want the easiness and unpredictability of Leslie to disappear just yet. He likes the distraction of her.

She comes in for her coffee fix everyday like clockwork. _Around _the same time. He doesn't pin her to specific time because she doesn't actually come in at the _exact_ _same time _every day. Sometimes she stumbles in at around 1:30 in the afternoon and sometimes it's more like 2:15. And he quickly figures out that it's because she doesn't set an alarm before she sleeps. But coffee is the first, _first _thing she needs when she wakes up – which, again, explains the sweatpants at that hour _(and sometimes these cute, denim shorts paired with some hastily pulled on military boots – but who's keeping tabs, right?)_.

He figures out that she's definitely not a "morning person", especially given that she's asleep for most of those hours anyway. At first all he gets are short, mumbled greetings or sometimes not even that. Sometimes, it's just a half-assed wave. But he quickly figures out that the key is to wait for her to get to the front of the line and grab her coffee before expecting any coherent sentences to come out of her pretty little mouth.

It's probably a week and a half of this and he likes that even though he knows that _she_ knows he'll be there every day, she still comes to the coffee shop in pretty much her bed hair and half the clothes she'd slept in. He's never been good at the romance thing. Knows that he hasn't had the best track record especially when it comes to trusting people and letting them in. He thinks maybe it has something to do with how almost everyone he cares about ends up _dead, _but that's just an educated guess_._

So he tries not to let himself delve too deep on the way this girl intrigues him. They've had a grand total of about 7 hours of interaction during these past few weeks and he thinks he wants to keep being around her just because she makes him…amused?

Not laugh, because she hasn't actually made him laugh – _no one make him laugh_.

But she doesn't preen like other girls. She doesn't ask for more than what he gives and he likes that she makes him feel so _at ease._

-x-

The first time they actually have their coffee together is the first time he decides to sit in one of the couches by another window with a newspaper. He hears the door creak open and slam shut; knows it's her by the hazelnut and cherry blossoms that flood his nose. Her steps are lazy today (as they always are). He watches her in his mind's eye as her footsteps walk straight up to the counter and pause before heading towards him. Before he can look up to greet her, she's slumping into the space beside him and slipping her socked feet into his lap. Said feet knock the newspaper in his hand to the side as she wriggles and settles herself into the other corner of the couch, mile long legs stretched out and bare beside him, dressed in the denim shorts he totally hadn't been eyeing a few days ago.

"So the first time I saw you here I told you to try smiling next time, remember?" She says.

He'd like to say that she surprises him with the feet-in-his-lap move, but he actually didn't expect any less from her. Doesn't actually expect any less than her starting their conversation like they'd never stopped. He likes that she doesn't seem like she's expecting flowers and poetry. He's not very good with words anyway. Instead, he shows her how welcome her company is by taking one of her socked feet into his hands and gently running his thumbs across the arch of her foot.

"Ohhhh my gaaaahhhhhd, how did you know?" She drawls, head falling back over the arm of the couch, the hand holding her coffee slackening considerably.

He smirks. Almost cracks a smile as he murmurs, "sixth sense or something."

All she does is sigh. Watches him for a second as she quietly sips her coffee. His lips twitch as he notices her mismatched socks. _Of course they're mismatched. _The right one is a myriad of rainbow stripes stretching up just past her ankle and the left one is an ankle sock with a panda on it.

"Seriously?" he gestures to her socks. "You can't even pick same _sized_ socks? How old are you, twelve?" he teases.

"I am seventeen_, _thank you very much." She retorts.

He feels his heart stutter for a second, drops her feet and twists around to face her, dread lowering his voice. "Did you just say _seventeen?!_"

She holds his gaze for a second, expression all sober and serious. He thinks he's about to have a mild heart attack when she cracks a smile and laughs at the look on his face.

"I'm kidding, grumpy, I'm twenty-one." She replies between giggles. "I can't believe you fell for that shit. I do _not _look seventeen. And dude, _Wolfsbane! _Would I be seventeen if I worked there?!" She's full on laughing now and his mouth turns down into a frown as he smacks the feet still in his lap.

They sit silently for another minute and he turns a curious eye on her.

"How'd you do that?"

"What now?" She's still trying to stifle her laughter.

"Your heartbeat – I didn't hear you lie."

She throws a lazy shrug at him. "Practice."

That's all she gives him and he decides not to push her the way she doesn't push him.

They spend the rest of the afternoon in relative silence. She sips her coffee and reads a book she picks up from the café's collection and he alternates between browsing his newspaper and rubbing her feet. It's the first time he's been completely comfortable and relaxed in months. Every half hour or so, she asks him some random question, and he quickly figures out that if she's curious about something, she's not the type to beat around the bush about it.

_Do _**your** _socks match? _Yes.

What kind of coffee do you drink? Black. He likes the way her nose wrinkles at that.

_How long have you been in New York? _Not long._  
><em>

_That jacket real leather? _Yes!

_How do you like your eggs?_ Scrambled. She smiles at this and gives him an approving nod.

He doesn't notice the afternoon pass by but when he looks at the time again it's almost 6 o'clock and sort of dusky outside.

"Last question," she murmurs, peering up at him curiously, coffee long gone. He hears her heart stutter just a bit, but that's all that tells him that she's nervous. Everything else about her is at ease.

"Shoot." He murmurs back.

"Eyes." She's looking right into his as she slowly says, "red, yellow…or blue?"

He knows what she's asking. This is the only wolf related question she's mentioned all afternoon and he doesn't know what makes him answer truthfully, but he lets himself fall right into it. His walls come down just a little, his guard eases just a bit.

His voice doesn't waver.

"Blue."

He likes that her expression doesn't change into some sort of judgement. Likes that she just nods at him and continues to meet his eyes.

Then he hears her stomach growl like it's dying and he almost lets out a laugh. His mouth stops at a small smirk as she covers her eyes in embarrassment and blushes.

"Wanna know where the best burgers in town are?" And just like that the colour of his eyes become no big deal and he finds himself nodding at her easy invitation. She shouldn't be walking around by herself at night anyway.

-x-

After dinner he walks her all the way back to her apartment. It's a cold evening and he notices her shiver a little. Soon, she's dwarfed by his leather jacket. Werewolves burn hotter than humans by nature so he doesn't really mind that he ends up in just his t-shirt.

When they get to the bottom of her building, they both pause and look at each other in silence. She looks at him like she doesn't quite know where to put him or how to categorise him. He stands with his hands in his pockets, waits for her cue. He doesn't let his inexperience in these kinds of situations show but doesn't let himself look like an idiot either. Finally, she lets out a small sigh, steps forward close enough that he can feel the heat from her body and gives the edge of his t-shirt a small tug and twist.

He keeps his hands in his pockets but can't help taking a deep breath of her scent. He has to tilt his head down to keep watching her when she's this close, and he finds that he doesn't really want her to go.

"Thanks for the company, huh?" She looks up at him with a tiny smile.

"Any time." He replies.

And just like that, her heat fades away as she steps back and ascends the steps to her apartment's front door. He's about to turn away when the sound of her voice makes him stop.

"Der."

Nobody's ever called him that before and he thinks he likes it. She's holding out his jacket to him and their fingers brush as he takes it back.

"I'll see you around?" She adds softly.

Derek flashes her a small smile and nods. _Definitely. _

-x-

It's kind of…not even really romantic. Derek doesn't call it a relationship and Leslie laughs every time they do something even remotely close to resembling a date.

They...don't really hold hands. She wears his jacket sometimes, but she isn't scared of serving him some pretty good punches when she's teasing him – _werewolf whatever_.

Cora doesn't question the fact that he leaves the apartment almost every afternoon and doesn't come back until late evening _(when Leslie has to get to work)._

He likes watching her scarf down popcorn and M&Ms while they're watching some horror movie filled with blood and gore. She's got the appetite of a growing pup, always eating – _rabbit food?! Fuck that! – _Always challenging him on who can eat the most but never winning because, hey, he's still a werewolf! Give him a little credit.

He never sees her in matching socks and probably never will for as long as he has the pleasure of knowing her. But he does see her in sweatpants a lot. And a variety of skimpy little outfits on the nights that he decides to visit _Wolfsbane – _because despite what he says the first time, he _does _go back.

Letting her sleep until noon becomes almost religion after the one time he tried calling her at 10am and she talked about _chasing trains, smelling trees and orange ponies _before hanging up on him completely_._

They teeter in this not-quite-relationship-sort-of-dating cloud for a while, both content to just enjoy each other's company and get accustomed to each other. And he likes – that even though it's not really a good idea – …that she's starting to smell a little bit like _pack_.

-x-

They've been in each other's company for about five months now, in their not-quite-relationship-sort-of-dating cloud. Derek's beginning to suspect that she can actually read him better than he thinks she can. Pushing him just enough, but pulling back just when he thinks she's getting too close. Slowly, he realises his walls are coming down one by one and he doesn't know when it happens, but one day he cracks a smile at something she says and actually huffs out a small laugh. They're at the coffee shop, in pretty much the same position as the first time and she's looking at him with a slight wonder in her eyes and a tiny smile.

"What?" he asks, hands gripping her ankles.

"There it is," she singsongs softly.

He looks down at her feet in his lap; pretends he doesn't know what she's talking about.

"Der, it's just me. I'm the one who told you to smile more remember?" She murmurs as she wriggles her toes. She doesn't make a move towards him, stays relaxed against the other side of the couch with a finger in between the pages of the book she'd been reading.

He likes that she's just waiting there. Waiting for him to get his head around what just happened and make the next move.

Finally, he takes a small breath and grabs her toes with his fingers. "I'm not, good at…_all this_."

"Silly, grumpy." She chastises softly. "You're doing fine."

-x-

When they finally kiss, it's in front of her apartment building, like the first time. His hands are in his pockets and he's not really expecting anything more than the usual shirt tug/twist she usually gives him.

But this time Leslie steps forward right into his space. Close enough that he can feel the rise and fall of her chest. She grabs the edge of his t-shirt between her fingers, rubs them a little before giving it her usual tug and twist. Then she looks right up at him and he's already looking down at her. He tries not to fall into a pool of hazel. The hand not tugging his shirt comes up and rests softly on his hip and it's simple and it's slow at the same time when she leans up on her toes – pauses for a second to let out a small breath – before planting a small, soft kiss on his lips. She feels like feathers and pillows and all kinds of soft.

It's quick and before he knows it she's pulling away, but not too far. And he's leaning over her, head hanging low enough for her to be able to drop back down to her feet and not still be on her toes.

He wants to take his hands out of his pockets and put them on her waist, but he also doesn't want to push her. Wants to savour this feeling of starting something amazing without worrying about the '_what ifs'._

They stand outside her building for what feels longer than a few minutes. Her fingers are playfully tugging at the corner of his shirt again as they inhale each other's breaths and just blink at each other.

Finally she takes a step back and flashes him a small mischievous smile.

"I'll see you around?" She asks again, just like the first time.

And Derek flashes her a small smile and nods.

_Definitely. _

-x-

**Author's note: **One day I just really felt like writing a simple, warm, Derek x OFC fic, where the girl draws him out little by little without any hidden agendas or evil plans. And also I really hated what Jennifer did so writing this fic was pretty cathartic to my how-could-she-do-that feels. Writing this was like giving him a hug. Also any mistakes are mine. I'm still getting the hang of ffnet again. How does everyone else handle keeping all the formatting of their stuff after they upload them?! I find myself having to re-italicize some words and not others?

Anyway, faves and/or reviews are much appreciated if you've got time!

And, I am half considering making this a 'verse just because Derek and Leslie are already having many, _many, _moments in my head. Maybe.

Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Of Locks and Keys

**Pairing:** Derek x OFC

**Summary:** It never crossed his mind that one day he'd be standing in front of Leslie's apartment building trying to figure out the best way to break in.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything except the OFC and all mistakes are my own.

-x-

It never crossed his mind that one day he'd be standing in front of Leslie's apartment building trying to figure out the best way to break in. If it had been any other circumstance, he would just wait it out but he hadn't heard from her since she left for work the night before and it's 4PM and it's been the first afternoon in weeks that she hasn't shown up at their usual spot at the coffee shop. She's not picking up his calls or answering his texts and truth be told, his wolf was getting just a little bit agitated.

And so here he was, standing outside her building absently wondering why he'd never walked her straight to her door before and why they'd always parted on the sidewalk just outside her building. Without moving from his spot on the sidewalk, Derek shuts his eyes momentarily and opens his senses. This is where she lives so it makes sense to him when he finally separates that hazelnut and cherry blossom scent away from the barrage of other smells assaulting his nose. He doesn't smell blood so he lets himself breathe a little more. She's not hurt but there's something else, something that makes his brow furrow a little and his nose wrinkle. Distress? Tiredness? Something sour and sickly underneath the sweetness that usually accompanies her.

He doesn't need much more to convince him to walk around the side of the building and find the fire escape. He may not know which apartment is hers but it's easy enough to find that her scent is strongest on the fourth floor. Derek's scaling the fire escape like an old pro and it's by pure luck that the window his head almost passes is ajar and emanating everything she's ever brought with her- on her- to the coffee shop. To him.

Slowly, Derek pulls himself the rest of the way up and takes a second to crouch by the window. What if she just decided to stand him up because she's finally sick of him? What if she's with someone else? (Which isn't true because he doesn't smell anyone else). But then he takes in the sickly sour smell just under her sweetness again and before he knows it, he's pushing her window the rest of the way open and climbing straight into her living room.

He's not a complete creeper though so he makes sure to make some noise as he ducks in and calls out her name as his booted feet land on the floor. His eyes take in a pair of Nikes left sprawled right in the middle of the hallway like she'd slipped them off mid-step. There's a red sweater thrown over the couch and as he makes his way past the TV he sees a pair of shorts sitting in the middle of a doorway still half propped up like they'd been slipped off right there.

"Leslie?" He calls again, rounding the doorway and picking up the shorts on the way.

The room is dark other than the light from the adjoining bathroom and he takes a second to take in the black out curtains blocking the daylight from streaming through.

There's a bed in the centre of the room with a pile of blankets that lets out a muffled groan as it shifts a little before going still again. He feels his wolf settle back as it senses that Leslie's not in any mortal danger, _and he will totally analyse that reaction later_ but for now he drops the shorts he's still holding into the laundry hamper by the door and slowly makes his way closer to the bed.

He takes in the dead cell phone on her bedside table and the foot with a star tattooed on it sticking out where a head would usually be.

"I could be anyone right now and you still haven't moved from under there," he murmurs teasingly.

There's another whine and a groan as the pile of blankets shifts again, followed by a muffled, "Burglars don't know my name."

Derek huffs in amusement and reaches for the edge of a blanket at the foot of the bed.

"No coffee today?" He ventures as he lifts it up to reveal the back of her head, dark hair messier than usual and face pressed into the mattress in the most depressing position he'd ever seen.

"I'm dying." She whines.

Derek takes in the sound of a blocked nose and watches the way she turns over onto her back almost lethargically so she can squint up at him with bleary eyes. He ignores the blue tank top that's scrunched up to reveal the cute piercing on her navel and leans forward instead to brush her forehead with his fingers.

"Sorry," she continues, "I totally slept through coffee."

"Well, I totally retaliated by breaking into your apartment," he returns, a twinge of apprehension lowering his tone.

She shifts a little more to face him, brows furrowing a little. "How _did _you get in? You've never even walked me up here before."

He breathes a little sigh at the pure curiosity in her tone. There's no accusation, no anger. Like she's completely okay with him finding his way to her. He repeats the reply from that first time they sat at the coffee shop and he'd impulsively grabbed the socked feet she'd slipped in his lap.

"Sixth sense or something. And you should try not to leave your windows open too often, huh?"

She smirks at him. "You climbed up the fire escape?"

"I've done crazier things," Derek answers.

She looks like she's about to say something else when her face scrunches up and she's interrupted by a powerful sneeze and for once Derek is glad he's got a werewolf's immune system. 

She groans and grabs the corner of the blanket still in his fist and throws it over her head.

"So as you can see, I'm not really dying." She grumbles miserably. "Get out of here, I'll call you when this disease goes away."

He's never had to look after anyone before, mainly because before the fire everyone around him had the same immune system and never got sick or healed almost instantaneously after they got hurt. And then after, well. Just, no-one's ever needed him like this before.

The pile of blankets shifts again and lets out another few sneezes and Derek finds himself letting out a sympathetic sigh before turning towards the kitchen.

"Have you eaten at all today? I can make soup."

Leslie doesn't protest and before he knows it, he's cataloguing a kid's tumbler mug by the sink with an image of Disney's Beauty and the Beast dancing on it. He takes a second to shake it and watches the glitter float up like flumes of dust. He smiles at the mix match of cutlery and crockery and the box of Fruit Loops by the microwave.

It doesn't escape his mind that he doesn't feel uncomfortable here. He doesn't feel like this is his first time in Leslie's apartment, and he knows it's because it's hers.

-x-

It's a few weeks later and they're slumped shoulder to shoulder against the back of the couch in their usual spot at the coffee house, both just content to lazily let the afternoon tick by.

"Have I ever told you the story about my keys?" She asks him.

"What about them?" Derek asks, watching as she wriggles a little, arm squirming underneath her as she lifts her ass up a little to get to her back pocket.

Her keys jingle lightly as she holds them up between them.

"Oh you know, like, how this one is for the window by the fire escape. And this one is for my bedroom, which I hardly ever use, by the way. And this one is for my mailbox and this is for the apartment building door, which is never locked anyway because of Marv, the weird but okay landlord who lives downstairs." She flips each key up as she talks and he tries not to smirk at the orange pompom holding the whole jingling mess together.

Leslie swings her keys around one more time and holds a chunky silver one up in front of both of them as she continues, "this is for my front door." She wriggles a little bit more, this time stretching her right leg out in front of her so she can jam her hand into the front pocket of her shorts, feeling for something small.

Derek raises an eyebrow in amusement as she finds what she's looking for. She faces him with a matter-of-fact look on her face, crossing her legs in front of her so her left knee nudges at his ribs and holds the thing in her hand up and in front of his face.

"And this? This is yours. For my front door. 407, just in case you've forgotten." His eyes almost cross from the strain of focussing at something so close to his nose, but it doesn't take him long to make out the exact duplicate of the chunky, silver key she'd held up before.

"Because we can sort of, be like that now." She murmurs softly. He knows it's not a question because just in the past week alone Derek's had to break into her apartment at least twice for some reason or another.

_"Dude, I'm at work and I totally left the stove on. You need to get in there!"_

_"Seriously, I must be the only dumbass who forgets to have spare keys made to her apartment. I can't believe I left them in there, I totally haven't done that for at least a year!"_

The corner of his mouth lifts up into half a smile as he reaches up between them and encloses the key and her small hand into his larger fist.

"Did you just make that story up off the top of your head?" He asks teasingly as he straightens up slightly and brings his fist with her hand and the key inside it up to his lips.

Leslie blushes prettily and watches him open his fist to plant a kiss on her closed hand.

Her mouth parts to form a slight O before she whispers just a little breathlessly, "Maybe. Did you like it?"

He smiles into her eyes and takes the key out of her hand. "It was perfect." He replies.

-x-

A/N: The title was totally off the top of my head but I figured it doesn't matter that much as I'm adding it into That Coffee Fix (dare I call it)…'verse, LOL.

As always, any feedback would be wonderful! Feel free to leave any prompts you'd like to see with these two in the comments as well. I am paying attention to them, I promise!

Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Hold Her and Kiss Her.

**Pairing:** Derek x OFC

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything except the OFC and all mistakes are my own.

**A/N: **If anyone is interested in BGM, I had _Au Revoir _by One Republic on repeat as I wrote this.

-x-

It's 2AM in the morning and the moon is gleaming brightly through her living room window. There's a cool breeze making her curtains float slightly and both of them are so _wasted._

It hadn't been his idea to start downing shots of bourbon at 11PM the night before but it's her _first night off in weeks and getting drunk isn't exactly allowed while working the podium, y'know?_

He's sitting on the floor of her living room staring at the booted foot of his outstretched leg with his back leaning lazily against the front of the couch. She's stretched out on her stomach on the couch behind him humming quietly as she cards her slim fingers through his hair.

He knows he's had a lot more to drink than she has, but with his metabolism, they're pretty much the same level of wasted as each other. With two shots to her every one, they've ended up at that point of sleepy-lazy-careless kind of wasted and thankfully not the I-can't-walk-I-will-throw-up-on-you wasted.

"We're so responsible," she slurs in amusement, puff of her breath ghosting across the back of his neck.

"Huh?" he responds, not sure if he'd missed a part of the conversation or if she's been conversing with herself in silence.

"I can't believe we're this drunk and we're not even making out," she whines.

He should learn to stop being surprised at all the things she's not afraid to blurt out. They've been in each other's company for roughly seven months now. Not that he's counting or anything.

He murmurs a noncommittal sound, not unlike a small amused laugh and feels his breath hitch a bit when her fingers stop carding through his hair and small arms slide over his shoulders and hang loosely around his neck.

She's never really pushed for more than cuddles and chaste kisses before and neither has he, being content with their slowly moving not-quite-relationship-sort-of-dating cloud but it's not like either of them were immune to the pull they felt towards each other. They've both just been enjoying the attraction and savouring every single moment. He would probably never get the chance to admit it out loud but Leslie is, and always will be, the first girl to ever just _let him _feel the tingles and the butterflies. He'd never had the feeling of demand from her, of agenda. Theirs was a very gentle and innocent thing of pushing but not too hard and pulling but not too much.

His heart's about to beat its way out of his chest and he's thinking about how much he's about to ruin things if he threw her arms off of him right that second when she suddenly exhales a huge sigh against the nape of his neck and his skin erupts in the most giggle-inducing goose bumps. _Giggle-inducing?! Jesus Christ…!_

The tension leaves his body in a second and he scrunches his shoulders up to his ears trying to dislodge her mouth from that spot at the base of his neck.

"I will head butt you in the face, Les!" he threatens non-threateningly.

Her body is trembling with suppressed laughter, her arms still loosely hanging over his shoulders.

"Grumpy!" she slurs, still that little bit tipsy. "Thought you were gonna crawl right out of your skin there for a second."

He rolls his eyes almost forgetting how well she can read him most times. He knows though that under the little giggles she wasn't entirely unaware that he'd pushed her away. Again.

Leslie sighs again and without seeing the look on her face he thinks it's with resignation. He feels her wriggle a little and shift her position on the couch and he's about to turn around and see what she's up to when she slides her left arm over his shoulder a little more so he can see the lines of her compass tattoo and the familiar silhouettes of birds.

Her other arm reaches across him until her fingers are tracing her tattoos. She presses a finger to the first bird just on the lower inside of her upper arm.

"This is my dad," she murmurs. The blurriness has faded a little from her voice and he smells her sobriety creeping up on her. "He was a vet. The best…"

Her fingers move up a little to the next bird inked on the inside of her upper arm.

"This is my mom," her fingers stroke over the silhouette a few times, caressing.

"She was an artist," Derek hears the smile in her voice and pictures a young Leslie playing in the front yard of a house he's never seen with a small easel set up in front of her and water colours.

Her arm shifts higher to touch the smallest of the silhouettes and the way her arm shifts tighter is an almost sure fire position to break his neck but defence is the last thing on Derek's mind as he hears the quiver in her voice.

"And this…" he feels her arms tremble a little and Derek frowns in sympathy, holding very still as he keeps his eyes on her tattoos and the finger lovingly stroking the smallest bird silhouette.

"This is my brother," she whispers. He smells the salt of her unshed tears but doesn't move. "He was an architect. He liked shapes and lines. He liked to draw."

She pauses for a second and what she says next chases the rest of the alcohol out of his system and slams him right back to reality. "He was like you."

Leslie shifts again, arms tightening around his neck but not choking. She buries her face into the back of his neck and this time it doesn't tickle. He doesn't feel tears but he smells them so strongly he has to stop himself from turning around and cradling her in his arms.

"Alphas – they're meant to protect, right? They're meant to protect their pack," she mumbles miserably.

He nods once, doesn't know the words to comfort her. He feels her shake her head restlessly against him.

Her next three words is enough to break his stillness.

"I was pack._ He wasn't one and then he k-killed one protecting me and I—"_

He doesn't need to know the rest of her story. Would do anything for her to stop rehashing everything at that moment just for him. There's a hitch in his breath as a pain so sharp washes through him and in a quick but gentle movement, he shifts in her arms and pulls her down from the couch and into his lap. Quietly, he grips the arm with the tattoos in his big hand and lowers his head to brush his lips over each frozen silhouette.

Leslie watches him with soft, sad eyes but there are no tears and he's wondering how she's able to maintain such quiet composure knowing the heartache behind her ink. They sit there for a while, him still brushing his lips gently over her skin and her leaning awkwardly against him and then slowly she shifts so that she's facing him with legs encasing him in a straddle. It feels like the most natural thing in the world and the expression on her face when he looks at her is sad and calm. Derek lifts a hand up to brush a lock of hair out of her face, keeps his hand cradling her head as her eyes shift down to look at her arm.

"It doesn't hurt as much as everyone leads you to believe. It's not an excruciating, unbearable hurt." Leslie strokes her fingers over the birds thoughtfully. "But when I was getting these done? I cried the whole time."

The clock shows that it's just gone over to 3AM. Derek's forgotten the reason for his apprehension when her arms had first gone around him and now all he wants to do is give her comfort. When he moves his hand to cup her cheek and leans in to kiss her all on his own, it has nothing to do with wanting to get into her pants at all. Her eyes are only half open with unshed tears but she breathes into his mouth and meets him halfway. He hears the escalation in both their heartbeats. Her mouth is soft and tastes like bourbon and strawberry lip gloss but her energy is raw and open and all he wants to do is hold her and kiss her and hold her.

When he pulls away, her hand is gripping the wrist he's got closest to her face. Derek watches the tiny tip of her tongue dart out to moisten her lips, watches her bring her other hand up to his cheek and rub it down his 5 o'clock shadow.

"Stay," she murmurs. Her eyes run up and down his face, quietly studying him.

And he can't think of any reason to say no. Can't think of anywhere else he'd rather be. And he knows that even if she changed her mind and tried, that all he would do tonight is hold her and kiss her and hold her.

-x-

**A/N: **As always, a thousand million thank yous for stopping by! Not quite sure of the direction of this series aside from one shots but every time I write something Leslie reveals more of herself and a plot continues to develop so hopefully the muse knows what it's doing. Any R&R would be much appreciated!


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